We Come Together (Just As We Are)
by willowscribe
Summary: Howard and Maria Stark don't die in a car accident in 1991. They die in a car accident in 1981. Orphaned at age 11 and the heir to a multi-billion dollar corporation, Tony cannot be left to just anyone the foster system. Peggy Carter steps in.


**Notes: This fic in based in the MCU (Earth-199999) and references other non-film works within the series, primarily the television show Agent Carter. No prior knowledge of Agent Carter is required to understand this fic, but it may help to know that Angie Martinelli and Daniel Sousa are both characters from the show. Angie is Peggy's neighbor/roommate/gal pal in the late 40s, and Sousa is one of Peggy's co-workers/romantic interests in the show.**

 **This work is cross-posted on AO3.**

* * *

 _We Come Together (Just As We Are)_

 **1981**

He was eleven years old when they died. A car accident, or so he'd been told. He had no immediate family. There were friends of the family, sure; people coming out of the woodwork, claiming to be ever so close to the famous industrialist billionaire Howard Stark or his beautiful wife, Maria. There were about seventeen different versions of Howard's supposed will, each which had to be validated and verified by a small army of lawyers to ensure any inheritance was legitimate.

None of the purported wills gave mention of the guardianship of a young Anthony Edward Stark.

The social worker gave him a soft smile as she spoke gently, her hands holding Tony's as she knelt to meet his eye level. "Now Tony," she said softly. Tony found her incredibly patronizing. "Now that your parents aren't here anymore, we need you to live with a grown-up who can take care of you. The only problem is your parents didn't say who they wanted to take care of you."

"And you can't pick just anyone because there are hundreds of people out there who would like to adopt the heir to a billionaire," Tony said. "They're all in it for the money. Well that's fine, I can solve your problem. I'm going to file for emancipation and then I'll be my own man."

The social worker's brow furrowed. It looked like a small woodland creature had crawled on to her forehead in the middle of the night and died there, Tony thought. "Tony, sweetheart," she began, and her voice was so laced with practiced honey that Tony wanted to smack her to make her stop. Bad idea, he told himself. _If you hit her, they'll put you in with all the crazies because you're a violent offender._

"Tony, you're too young for emancipation," she continued, her thumbs making circles on the back of Tony's hands. Tony thought she was trying to be comforting, but really she was just making his hands itch. He resisted the urge to snatch them back from her. "We want you to choose who you want to live with," the social worker was saying. "We don't know who we can trust so we were hoping you could help us you."

"I want Jarvis," Tony said quickly. "And Ana."

The social worker frowned. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis aren't options. Legally, they were employees of your family. If they adopted you, it might not look the best for them.

Tony leveled an even glare at the social work. "Look, I know how it would look. Like they're taking advantage of their position in the household to adopt me and get all my money. But frankly it would look like that for almost anyone. And I don't care what people say. It's my family that's dead." He spat the last word out like it was something sharp in his mouth.

The social worker sighed, released Tony's hands, and stood to her full height. "Tony, you're a smart kid. You understand what my job is here. I need to place you with a family that won't raise any eyebrows. You know there are welfare checks. And you know that the press is all over the story." Tony huffed moodily and crossed his arms. "Tony, you need to live somewhere that, when all the chaos is over, no one will say they took you in for the money. Not your neighbors, not the press, and especially not the government. Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis are delightful, but there's a conflict of interest there. I don't want the government to come in and declare them unfit. I don't want to uproot you again."

She had a point, but Tony didn't want to admit it. He kept his arms crossed and fixed his eyes firmly on the ground, examining his shoes. "Tony," she said again. "Is there anyone else?"

Tony bit his lower lip and chewed on it. Who else, he wondered, would want to take on a brat like him? A smart-ass little boy who was more trouble than he was worth? Who would want a kid who was almost finished with _high school_ at age eleven?

Something clicked in his brain. A face he hadn't seen for years, ever since his Uncle Daniel died.

"My aunt. Aunt Peggy."

The social worker frowned. "Tony, you don't have any aunts. Both of your parents were only children."

"I do," Tony said firmly, and he looked up to stare the social worker dead in the eyes. "My Aunt Peggy. She's not a blood relative, but she worked with my father during the war. Call her. She'll take me."

And he knew she would. When he was little, he'd spent a lot of time with her and Uncle Daniel. They'd lived in New York City, so Tony could easily pay them a visit when Howard was working in the area. Aunt Peggy had always told him that he would have a home with her. She and Uncle Daniel had even been his godparents. Of course, after Uncle Daniel had died, Howard had suddenly forbidden Tony from visiting or even calling Aunt Peggy. Tony had never understood the reasoning behind this, but he knew that the separation had been entirely of Howard's doing. He'd begged his mother to allow him to see Aunt Peggy, but she'd only shaken him off with a dainty sniff and a "Father says no, Anthony."

Did he even remember her phone number? Of course he did. Tony wasn't one of the smartest kids in the world for nothing. He snatched a piece of paper from the social worker's desk and wrote it down quickly, praying that the number hadn't changed in the past five years. "Call her," he said when he was done. "She'll take me."

She did.

When Aunt Peggy burst through the doors of the office twenty minutes later, her dark eyes welling with tears, Tony felt himself beginning to choke up as well. He wouldn't cry, he told himself. He wouldn't… but of course he did. All the stress and anxiety and despair from the past week caught up with him, and he collapsed into Aunt Peggy's waiting arms, sobbing like child.

Screw it, he thought. He _was_ a child.

Aunt Peggy's hands were running through Tony's matted dark hair and she was murmuring soothingly into his ear. Tony could think of nothing but the warmth of her body surrounding him and the absolute safety and comfort he felt in her arms.

The social worker coughed politely. Aunt Peggy rose, her hand reaching out to grab Tony's without a thought. As she faced the social worker and the two began to talk, Tony examined her long fingernails. They were painted bright red. The lacquer was smooth and dainty but the edges of Aunt Peggy's nails were worn and chipped. He ran his hand over hers, feeling the callouses on her fingers and palms. His mother's hands had been smooth and gentile, her nails always painted with a light nude topcoat. Aunt Peggy's were the hands of a working woman. Tony found himself holding her hand tighter as he tuned back in to the conversation.

"You understand the welfare checks?" the social worker was saying. "He's a very rich little boy, and the federal government is determine to ensure his wellbeing. If they suspect anything is amiss…"

"Nothing will be amiss," Aunt Peggy assured her, her lilting English accent seeming to hide her clear annoyance. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to take my godson home."

Papers were signed and hands were shaken and for the most part, Tony ignored it, focusing solely on Aunt Peggy's comforting presence. When they stepped outside of the office building and on to a busy city street, he could finally feel himself beginning to breathe a little easier. "Thank you," he said softly, his hand still linked with Aunt Peggy's.

"I always promised you I would take care of you, Tony," she said softly, guiding him down the street to her parked car. "You know I love you."

Tony bit his lip. "I know. Why… why didn't Father let me see you after… you know, after Uncle Daniel?"

Aunt Peggy slowed her walking and pulled Tony to the side up against a building, out of the way of passers-by. "You'll meet her soon," she said. "I… I suppose I should tell you now before it's too much trouble to reverse the whole thing."

"What?" said Tony quickly. "Aunt Peggy, what is it?"

Aunt Peggy moved her hands to each of Tony's shoulders. "You know I loved your Uncle Daniel very much, right?"

Tony nodded.

"And you know how I used to love other people that I knew before Uncle Daniel, right?"

Tony nodded again. "You mean like Captain Rogers?"

Aunt Peggy smiled fondly at him. "You have a good memory, Tony-roni. Yes, like Captain Rogers. Well, after your Uncle Daniel died, I was very sad. I started spending a lot of time with one of my very dear friends. She made me feel happy when I was sad, and she helped me focus to get back on track. Michael and Mandy were both away at college so I was all alone in that big old house."

With dawning comprehension, Tony said slowly, "So when you say you've loved different people… you fell in love with your friend?"

Aunt Peggy let out a heavy sigh. "Yes, darling. And she would be… living with us."

"You fell in love with a girl?" Tony said quietly, suddenly aware of the other pedestrians on the street. "But… but you're a girl! How do you… how does that…?" He swallowed suddenly. "Is that allowed? Is that why Father…"

"Yes," Aunt Peggy said softly. "Yes, darling. That's why your father didn't want you to see me anymore. He was worried that I might be a bad influence on you. Of course, if you don't want to live with us, there's still time to change your mind. I know it will be different than what you're used to…"

"No," Tony said stubbornly. "I want you. And if Howard didn't want me to be around you, it's even more reason to stay with you."

"Now Tony," Aunt Peggy began, but Tony interrupted her.

"If you try and tell me I'm disrespecting the dead or some of that bullshit, I will march down to the cemetery right now and set Howard's grave on fire."

"Tony!" Aunt Peggy exclaimed. "Don't—"

"Don't do what? My father didn't let me see you all those years because you were in love with a girl? That's… that's… that's stupid! I hate him! I hate everything about him!"

Aunt Peggy swooped down and pulled Tony in close for another hug. Tony tried to yell and flail but her embrace was tight and suffocating. As he slowed in his struggles, Tony noticed the whispers and glances of the walkers whose attention his tantrum had drawn. He took a shuddering breath and tried to compose himself like his mother had taught him. _Back straight, chin up, lips together, teeth apart. There you go, Tony. Now don't embarrass your father._

As Aunt Peggy released him from the hug, Tony reached out and took her hand. It made him feel childish, but he liked the comfort it brought him. "Aunt Peggy?" he said quietly. "Can we go home now?"

Aunt Peggy smiled at him warmly. "Yes, darling. Let's go home."

* * *

 **2009**

Christmas with the Carter clan was a raucous affair. All three adult children – Michael, Mandy, and Tony – would cram themselves into Peggy's apartment, which, while large, was not intended to accommodate so many people. Michael and Mandy both brought with them spouses and children as well, further exceeding the maximum occupancy any sane fire marshal would have permitted. The eldest of the brood was fourteen-year-old Brianna, who had taken to avoiding the chaos by playing on her brand-new iPhone, but the littler ones – twelve-year-old Brandon, ten-year-old Danny, and five-year-old Sophie – kept themselves entertained by chasing each other around the house, little Sophie giggling and shrieking in delight as her brother and cousin pursued her across the kitchen.

Tony had no children of his own to contribute to the mess, so he played the role of the "fun uncle" by buying all the best Christmas gifts and playing with the kids long after their parents had tired of the Christmas Day excitements. Aunt Angie was the queen of baking, so after dinner, Tony would help her make cookies or pies to enjoy later in the evening. This year, they were attempting Baked Alaska, and Tony, for all of his technological prowess and success, was not having the slightest bit of luck engineering the ice cream so that it wouldn't melt before it was served.

"I don't understand it," Tony muttered to himself, staring helplessly at their pathetic third attempt. "It seems so simple on paper."

Aunt Angie held the recipe that she'd clipped from a magazine closer, as though it would reveal its secrets only if it was half a millimeter away from her eyeball. "It keeps saying to make sure to caramelize the meringue before the ice cream reaches its melting point."

"Which is negative three degrees Celsius," Tony chimed in.

"Yes, thank you, Dr. Carter," Aunt Angie said, waving him off like she was swatting a fly. "Are we making the meringue wrong? Or maybe the sponge cake?"

"This should not be so difficult," Tony groaned, coming around behind Aunt Angie and giving her a bear hug.

Aunt Angie giggled and shrieked, batting at his arms with a spatula. "Bad Tony!" she said with glee. "No soup for you!"

"We'll have ice cream soup by the time we figure this out, Aunt Angie," Tony said, spinning her around the room and not putting her down.

A sudden tremor shook the building, and all the lights in the apartment went out. Tony put Aunt Angie down at once and stepped out into the living room. There was a distant boom and a crashing sound. "Mama?" little Sophie said, and Mandy swept down and scooped the girl up in her arms at once, muttering soft platitudes to calm her.

Another boom and crash. This one sounded closer than the last. The family waited together in the living room with breathless anticipation.

And then –

All hell broke loose.

Debris rained down from the ceiling and the lamp above the kitchen table wobbled and then fell, glass shattering across the floor. Sophie began to cry loudly, and then a sudden rush of heat blasted across the room. Flames, Tony dimly recognized. That wasn't good.

The explosion rocked him to his core. His stomach was in his throat and his heart was in his gut and his eyes must have been somewhere in the wrong place because he couldn't see anything. It was dark, pitch dark, and the ringing in his ears was louder than Sophie's cries. He tried to speak but no sound came out, or at least, not that he could tell. As his eyesight returned, he saw Aunt Peggy running toward the wall – well, there wasn't a wall anymore, just a gaping hole in the side of the building that opened to the street – a pistol clenched tight in her hand. Before he could try to stand again, another explosion ripped through the building. Plaster and glass and metal rained down on him, and Tony quickly found himself pinned by a piece of rebar that had impaled him straight through his thigh. He let out an agonizing scream, but there was nothing he could do to move now, attached to the floor as he was. He tried to speak – "Aunt Angie, Aunt Angie!" – but there was still no sound.

By the third explosion, Tony had faded into unconsciousness.

* * *

 **1970**

Ana Jarvis ran like her life depended on it. In a way, perhaps, it did. In a very roundabout way. It was all very confusing, really. Her life didn't directly depend on her running, but indirectly it could be argued that if she didn't run, her life would soon be in trouble.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, Ana rounded a corner in the mansion and skidded to an undignified halt outside of Howard Stark's office door. Smoothing her floral dress down and briefly rearranging her pearls, she determined herself suitable to be seen by her employer. Her pale hand knocked twice on the door – not sharply, not aggressively, she certainly knew better than that – just two light taps. When she heard the irritated grunt from inside the room, she called out, "Mr. Stark, sir, if you please. It's your wife. The baby is coming."

Another irritated grunt. A few moments later, Howard pulled back the heavy office door, looking down on Ana, his hair undone and his eyes heavy with lack of sleep. Self-consciously Ana smoothed her dress again. "Mr. Stark, sir," she repeated, "your wife? Shall I send for a car?"

Howard waved her aside, stepping out of the doorway to stumble down the hallway past her. "Mr. Stark!" Ana called after him, watching his retreating figure. "What shall I tell Mrs. Stark?"

Howard turned slowly, his mouth moving silently as though he were tasting his words before he said them. "Tell her… congratulations," he finally decided. Then, turning away from her once more, Howard stumbled down the hall, leaving the reek of liquor wafting behind him.

"Oh," Ana said to herself, twisting her hands nervously. "Oh dear. Oh my. Oh dear."

She sighed and began to retrace her steps out of the building, but thought better of it momentarily. Stepping back to Howard's office door, which was still wide open, Ana took two steps inside and surveyed the mess. There were empty bottles everywhere, some broken, some leaking. There were half-completed projects and technical equipment Ana couldn't even begin to comprehend piling up on every available surface of the room, including the floor. Howard's desk was made of solid mahogany, and it dominated the space as the focal point of the room. Behind the desk was an old fireplace with a large, open grate. In it were charred pieces of paper, scraps of metal, and even more bottles.

At the center of his desk, however, was a tall stack of papers, neatly ordered with nary a drop of spilt liquor on them. The heading on the first paper made it abundantly clear what the rest of the stack contained.

 _Supreme Court of the State of New York, County of New York_

 _Howard Anthony Walker Stark, Plaintiff_

 _-against-_

 _Maria Collins Carbonell Stark, Defendant_

 _Verified Complaint_

 _Action for Divorce_

The papers hadn't been signed yet. Trembling, Ana turned to leave the room, vowing to forget what she had seen, but the silhouette of Howard Stark was already in the doorway, a new bottle in hand and murder in his eyes.

"Ana," he said, his voice tightly controlled, "I suggest you leave now." He was clenching the neck of the bottle so tightly his first was turning white.

Ana nodded demurely and scampered away. As the office door slammed closed behind her, Ana heard a frustrated shout and the sound of glass shattering. Later, when the baby came home, when Howard and Maria were screaming at each other while Ana rocked Tony in her arms to comfort him, Ana wondered how long it would be until the divorce went through. Would she be able to stay with Tony? She knew that Edwin was loyal to a fault to Mr. Stark, and wherever Edwin went, she would go as well. That's what marriage was, right?

When she discussed what she had seen with Edwin that evening over supper (because there were no secrets between them, not after everything they had been through together), Edwin had nodded, wiped him mouth politely, and said, "I'll handle it, my dear."

"Please," she said softly. "Please do. I need to… no one else is going to take care of that boy."

The divorce never happened. Ana had Tony. And she and Edwin would keep him safe, and comforted, and loved.

* * *

 **2010**

Tony celebrated the new year in a cave in Afghanistan, a magnet in his chest plugged into a car battery in order to keep the shrapnel and debris from the attack from slicing his heart into threads. Supposedly a terrorist organization wanted him to build weapons produced by Stark Industries. "I don't even work there," Tony had explained, or tried to, but they either didn't understand English or they didn't believe him.

Later, after he'd escaped in the Iron Man suit, after Yinsen had died, Tony found out that the whole setup had been staged by his father's business partner, Obadiah Stane, who had discovered the real version of Howard's will that gave Tony sole ownership and control of the company. He had intended for the terrorist attack to kill Tony in case the knowledge went public. He hadn't intended for the terrorists to misunderstand his explanations and decide to kidnap Tony to work on their own projects instead.

(He was right, Tony mused, that they really didn't speak enough English to understand. In a way, it had saved his life.)

But it hadn't saved everyone's lives.

Tony had lost his left leg entirely. The rebar that had pinned him had resulted in a massive gaping wound, a festering infection, and later, a serious case of gangrene. Yinsen had needed to operate on him quickly to save his life, and in a cave in the middle of the desert, amputation was the only viable option. He later joked that he was growing to resemble his Uncle Daniel every day he grew older, but the words felt hollow.

There'd been other people injured or killed by the attack as well. There were other families living in that same apartment building, and people out in the street or on the sidewalk at the time of the bombing.

All in all, twelve people lost their lives. The press called it the "Christmas Day Massacre." The attack was front-page news for weeks. Political commentators dissected the attack inside out and upside down. Was it part of the war on Christianity, some wondered? Was it a home-grown attack framed to make Muslims look bad, others pondered?

Twelve lives lost.

One of them was Mandy. One was them was Mandy's husband, Jack.

Another was Aunt Peggy.

They'd found Mandy dead in the living room, her body curled around a terrified but otherwise uninjured Sophie. Jack had been further away, his own body shielding young Danny.

Aunt Peggy had died in the street. The coroner determined it had been due to a bullet wound to the head. The police determined that she had engaged in a firefight with the terrorist attackers attempting to kidnap Tony. Tony determined that she'd died for him, and that was enough to make him sick.

* * *

 **1986**

By the time Tony got home from the party, it was almost three in the morning. The summer air was thick and muggy, and Tony found it difficult to breathe. Carefully turning his key in the door, he slipped inside his Brooklyn apartment, closing the door softly behind him. Turning, he crept forward through the front hall, angling toward his bedroom on the other side of the apartment.

A light clicked on in the living room.

 _Shit._

"Welcome back." Peggy's voice was light and airy, but Tony could hear the steel hiding beneath the calm words. "Have a seat, Tony."

There was no way out of it. Zipping his jacket all the way to try and hide the bites and bruises on his neck and shoulder, Tony slowly entered the living room and took a seat in a chair across from the couch where Peggy and Angie sat.

"Did you have a fun night?" Peggy asked. Tony noticed Angie holding Peggy's hand, rubbing soothing strokes across her palm.

"I…"

"Don't answer that. I already know." Peggy sighed. "Tony, why do you do this? Sneak out and scare us half to death? We don't know if you're alive or dead when you do that!"

"Jesus, Aunt Peg, it was a party, not a mass suicide." Tony knew that he should try and keep the sarcasm down, but he was drunk, and when he got drunk, he got angry.

"Oh, a party? Is that all?" Peggy said in feigned surprise. "Oh well, _in that case_ …"

"Tony, you know it's not safe," Angie cut in. "We know the kind of parties you go to, okay? We get it. You're young and still learning about the world. But it's just not safe these days to go out like that."

"Going to a party isn't going to give me the disease," Tony argued.

"Yes, but what goes on at those parties might!" Peggy jumped to her feet and began to pace across the carpet. "Tony, we just want you to be safe. We want you to make safe choices. And you're only sixteen, and some of those… men… are so much older than you. And you don't know who they are or if they can give you the disease, and _you know_ what it does if you get it. It's a death sentence. Do you understand that? You will wither away and die right in front of our eyes and I refuse to let that happen!"

"We know you're smart," Angie continued comfortingly. "You're one of the brightest minds of your generation. But Tony, that doesn't make you immune to the disease. You're not indestructible. And you know that some of our friends have already… passed away from it. We just can't…"

"We can't lose you," Peggy finished. She was staring out the window down at the street below. Her voice sounded a little thick. "Damn you, Tony Carter, we can't lose you. Especially not like that."

Feeling a bit ashamed, Tony stood and walked slowly over to join his aunt. Wrapping his arms around her from behind, he rested his chin on her shoulder and whispered, "I'm sorry, Aunt Peg."

"You'd better be," Peggy said, but Tony could hear her smile.

* * *

 **2011**

Things were hurting. Things were hurting quite a lot, actually.

"Uncle Tony! Uncle Tony!" Sophie Bradbury, seven-years-old, bounced across the room, her hair high up in two pigtails secured with pink bands. "Look what I made!"

With great difficultly, Tony sat up from his reclined position on the couch and looked over to see the girl presenting him with a drawing. In the center, there was a stick figure of a girl who was clearly supposed to be Sophie. On her left, she was holding hands with a woman drawn with gray hair wearing a pink dress – Grandma Angie, Tony supposed – and on the right, she was holding hands with a stick figure that had to be Tony. There'd been no doubt in his mind. There was only one possible person Sophie could be drawing that had only one leg and a bright blue circle right in the center of his stick chest.

"Wow, Sophie, this is great!" he said, leaning in and giving her a hug. "But it's missing someone, don't you think?"

Sophie rolled her eyes dramatically. "Finnnnnnnneeeee," she said with a huff, but Tony could tell she wasn't angry. Returning to the kitchen table and her crayons, Sophie took only a few minutes before she finished with the picture. When she trotted back to the couch to show Tony, Tony beamed at her magnanimously.

"Much better," he said, taking the picture in hand. Sophie had added a fourth figure to the picture holding hands with Grandma Angie – her older brother, Danny. "Did you show Grandma Angie yet?"

"Not yet," Sophie said, taking her picture back and clutching it tightly to her chest. "It's a surprise. For her birfday."

Sophie had not yet learned how to pronounce her "th" sounds, so she substituted with an "f" sound instead. Tony knew that he should be working with her on correcting it, but it was too unspeakably adorable to stop. "Oh really?" he said with polite interest. "Why, I think she'll like that very much. Eighty is a big year, after all."

Sophie nodded, her eyes wide. "That's like… so old," she breathed.

"Well, I'm not dead yet." Angie Martinelli stepped into the doorframe of the living room, a twinkle in her eye. "And you'll have a hard time getting rid of me just yet, you two." Grinning winningly, she crossed the room to meet the two of them, giving Sophie a kiss on the cheek and Tony a kiss on the head. "What are you plotting right now?"

"World domination," Tony said at the same time as Sophie said, "Your birthday surprise!"

"My birthday surprise is world domination?" Angie quirked an eyebrow at Tony, who could only offer an apologetic shrug in response. "Well, I can't say I'm not grateful, but I don't know if I'm quite the woman for the job."

"No!" Sophie giggled, leaping away from the couch and darting over to meet her Grandma Angie. " _This_ is your surprise!" She held the drawing out proudly.

"Oh, it's _lovely_!" Angie exclaimed. "Miss Sophie, I love it!" She gave the little girl a tight hug. "May I hang it on the fridge?"

Sophie nodded eagerly, so while Angie found a spare magnet to use in the display, she called over to Tony, "And how are you doing Tones?"

"Me? I'm smashing," Tony said.

Angie grimaced. Turning to Sophie, she said, "Sophie, be a dear and play in your room for a few minutes, okay? I need to talk to Uncle Tony about boring adult stuff."

"Yuck," Sophie agreed, turning and scampering away.

With a heavy sigh, Angie turned to Tony and moved to join him on the couch, sitting next to him on the soft brown cushions. "So, how you are really?" she asked.

Tony offered a noncommittal shrug. "What's that phrase the kids use nowadays? 'Everything hurts and I'm dying'?"

Angie swatted his shoulder. "You cut out that old geezer crap Anthony Carter. I'm turning eighty today, so have some respect."

"Right, right, sorry." Tony grinned benignly. "It's… well, it's the reactor. I still can't find a long-term solution to the palladium poisoning; at least, nothing sustainable enough to even consider. I've tried every algorithm, every calculation, every element in the known universe, and there's just _nothing_ that will work." He shot a forlorn glance at the hallway that led to the children's bedrooms. "I wish I'd known before I took them in," he said quietly. "They've already lost their parents. If they lose me, then… well, no offense, Angie, but you're not getting any younger."

"Offense taken," Angie said with a wry grin. "But you know," she continued on a more sober note, "they do have Michael. He and Jenny would be more than happy to take them in if necessary."

"They already have two kids," Tony said with a sigh. "That's why I took them in the first place. I was all by myself and you were too, and so it made sense for us to take care of them instead of overburdening Mike and Jenny. It was hard enough for everyone when I was… gone."

Angie patted his arc reactor lightly, her aged fingers smoothing over the scar tissues built up on his chest. "I still can't believe you have this thing sometimes," she said. "You've been through so much hurt."

"We've all been through a lot as a family," Tony agreed. "Hell, I'm not even the first person in the family to lose a limb."

"Your Uncle Daniel would be proud of you," Angie said sympathetically. "Peg always told me that he lost his leg in the war. Part of the Battle of the Bulge, I think? And you lost yours in a different kind of war. But still a war." She shuddered. "All these years later, and still there's war to tear families apart."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"What was Aunt Peggy like when she was young?" Tony asked, breaking the stillness in the air.

Angie smiled fondly. "She was a firecracker, that one. Although I suppose that never changed. She was way tougher than I ever could be. The first time we met, she threatened to stab a man with a fork after he slapped my ass."

Tony barked a sudden laugh. "You never told me that story!" he said.

"No?" Angie grinned cheekily. "How about the time she broke in to my apartment through the window? Evading arrest, naturally." She clucked her tongue. "Of course I hid her when they came for her, poor thing. All these men bursting into my apartment, and Peggy hiding on the ledge outside the window, and I didn't know what to do to help so I just started crying hysterically and that sure scared them off. We had some adventures, me and Peg."

Tony grinned as well. "I love you, Aunt Angie."

"I love you too, Tony-roni," Angie said, stroking Tony's hair gently. "You'll figure this out. You're one of the smartest people alive. If you can't do it, no one can't."

"That's the thing," Tony said. "I don't think I _can_."

Angie furrowed her brow in concentration. After a moment, she said, "Well, maybe someone else who was really really smart would know."

"Such as?"

"You're not going to like it."

"What?" Tony said sharply.

"Well…" Angie fiddled with the ring on her left hand idly. "You got the design for the arc reactor from Howard, right? You read his schematics when you went through the research he left behind."

"Go on."

"Well, I was just thinking… what if Howard Stark had a solution to this too? I mean… you're one of the smartest people alive. But what if… well, he _was_ your father after all… maybe he would have an idea or two."

"That man was never my father," Tony said coldly. "Jarvis and Ana were my parents until Howard and Maria died. And then I had you and Aunt Peggy. They were biological donors, and nothing more."

Angie laid a warm hand on Tony's shoulder. "I know, sweetheart, I know. Just… think about it, okay? It saved your life once before. Maybe it can save it again."

* * *

 **1991**

The bar was packed with people. Apparently Tuesday was a popular night, although Tony couldn't fathom why. He sat in a corner booth with Michael and Mandy, drinking a glass of water while Mandy tried to get him to eat some of the cheap nachos she'd ordered for the table.

"Tonyyyy," she said, "pleaseeeee?"

"You're ridiculous," Tony said stoically. "It's _my_ birthday, remember? I should be eating what I want to eat, not what you want me to eat!"

"You need food in your stomach," Mandy said sensibly. "It'll help absorb all the alcohol."

"I've had alcohol before, Mandy. I know how it works."

At this, Michael let out a loud, theatrical gasp. "But Tony! You're not of age yet! How could you?"

"I went to college when I was fifteen," Tony replied sardonically. "Besides, it won't matter in ten minutes. It's almost midnight."

"I'm scandalized," Michael said.

"What a tragedy," Tony deadpanned.

Mandy was on her third glass of moscato and was giggling hysterically. "Seriously Amanda," Michael said sharply, "you are 34 years old, why are you acting like such a child?"

"I'm being the mother hen here," Mandy said with a grin. "That's _my_ job as the big sister."

"Well _my_ job as the big brother is to make sure that the runt has a great 21st birthday, and that means celebrating _with_ him, not before him."

"You're both idiots," Tony clarified.

Mandy grinned. "You wouldn't want us any other way," she said, leaning in and planting a fat kiss on Tony's cheek.

"No, I wouldn't," Tony agreed, wiping his face with his sleeve and staring in dismay at the resultant pink lipstick smear.

In the corner of the dingy room was a bright neon clock counting down to midnight. As Mandy and Michael began bickering over what Tony's first _legal_ drink should be, Tony gazed at the clock ticking down, second by second by second. He tried to imagine what his 21st birthday would have been like without Michael and Mandy beside him. Maybe he would be all alone at this dingy bar. Maybe he would be throwing a massive party with hundreds of people. Neither option sounded particularly appealing.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock was counting down. In his mind, Tony knew it was the countdown to midnight. But as the electronic red numbers changed second by second, he couldn't help but feel a swift sense of dread in his gut.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Something was coming. He just didn't know what.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

* * *

 **2011**

Tony was erasing the massive blackboard in the empty lecture hall. It was an arduous process because the chalkboard was twice as tall as he was and stretched across the entire front wall of the room. Tony, being Tony, had filled every inch of it with equations and theorems for his senior physics students. It was raining that day too, and the cold had settled into his metal leg, making the juncture at his hip ache.

"Mr. Stark." The deep voice echoed through the hall. For a brief moment, Tony couldn't breathe. It may have been his imagination, but he could have sworn that his already weak heart had skipped a beat.

Bracing himself, Tony turned around and plastered on a charming smile. "I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong class," he said.

The man standing at the back of the room near the top of the stadium-style seats took a step forward, coming into the light. He was older, his skin grooved with deep worry lines, and his eye was covered with a black patch. "Mr. Stark," he repeated. "We need to talk."

Steeling himself, Tony responded, "Then I apologize, but you have the wrong person. I'm Dr. Carter." He tried not to let his words tremble.

The man sighed and took a few angry steps forward. "Don't bullshit me, Stark. I know who you are. Anthony Edward Stark, also known as Iron Man, born the 29th of May, 1970 to Howard and Maria Stark. I have your file."

Tony's carefully placid expression quickly soured. "Close, but no cigar. My name is Anthony Edward Martinelli Carter, and I would like to be referred to as such."

The stranger rolled his eyes – well, eye, Tony supposed – and stepped down from the final stair to stand levelly with Tony on the lecture floor. Tony was irritated to note that despite their equal plane, he was still shorter than the man by several inches. "Fine," the man said. "Carter, if that's what you want. I'm here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative."

* * *

 **Notes: I have alternated between wanting to continue this story on into the first Avengers film and wanting to leave it as-is with an open ending. Normally I would never post anything incomplete, but I feel that this story can be read as a one-shot and work fine, so I'm going ahead and publishing it. However, if there is enough interest, I may continue this story (probably from Steve's POV). Let me know what you think in your reviews!**

 **EDIT: The sequel/interlude titled "First Meetings (And We're Together)" is now posted! If you enjoyed this story, please check it out, and if you want to see more from this AU, be sure to follow me for email notifications every time I post a new fic. Cheers!**


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